


sworn under an oath

by faithtastic



Series: sworn under an oath [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3x07, F/F, clarke deserves orgasms okay, clarke swears a lot, everything is clexa and nothing hurts, filth basically, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/pseuds/faithtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa makes good on her vow to treat Clarke's needs as her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After 3x07 I needed to write this as a form of catharsis. It almost goes without saying but: fuck JRoth.
> 
> (This starts quite fluffy then quickly descends into sin. Contains no socially redeeming value or semblance of a plot whatsoever.)

They part, just long enough for Clarke to watch the single tear that rolls down Lexa's cheek. The sight of it rocks Clarke, provokes a rush of affection so strong it's like hurtling from space in the dropship all over again. This girl, this beautiful, precious girl; this fierce, stubborn, indomitable leader of twelve nations stands in front of her so open and vulnerable that Clarke's astounded she ever thought Lexa incapable of feeling. Lexa feels _so much_ that it dismantles Clarke, all her reservations, fears and lingering resentments, leaves her breathless and wanting. She presses their foreheads together, gives an almost imperceptible nod that, yes, it’s _now_ and leans in to connect their lips once more.

Lexa's hand sinks into her hair, the other clutching at her hip, and Clarke melts into the touch. She feels the shudder that goes through Lexa, the wobble of her chin and trembling bottom lip as they open their mouths to each other. The salt of fallen tears mixes with the taste of saliva and Clarke thinks it's the sweetest, most wonderful thing she's ever known.

As they kiss Lexa is in constant motion. She keeps changing the angle, a desperate edge to her pursuit of Clarke's lips, and Clarke tries to steady her. They have an hour. It doesn't have to be rushed, not when they've waited so long, endured so much to arrive at this place. Not when Clarke wants to memorise every detail, something to sustain her for the duration of their separation, however long that may be.

Maybe it’s selfish but she deserves this; they both do.

She finds the fastening of Lexa’s shirt at the back of her neck, releasing it with ease. (Not that Clarke’s spent any considerable amount of time thinking about the logistics of getting Lexa out of her clothing. Except that she totally has.)

She pulls the garment off Lexa’s shoulders, down her arms, dragging the bra straps with it. Lexa sighs softly, shakily, into her mouth and Clarke swallows the sound, letting it fill her chest and all the spaces in-between her ribs with warmth. They kiss as if they’ve been starved of each other, only ceasing contact to each suck in a quick lungful of air before they come together again, Clarke’s tongue sweeping into the humid depths of Lexa’s open mouth. At the first brush of their tongues someone moans - Lexa, Clarke herself, she isn’t certain. Goosebumps break out across Clarke's skin. She surges forward into the kiss, pulling Lexa closer, leaving no space between them. They’re flush at the thighs, stomachs, breasts. A violent tremor runs through Lexa and Clarke feels it like an electric current passing between them, tiny little sparks flaring down the length of her body.

Blindly, she crowds Lexa back towards the bed. Their hands seek each other out, fingers tangling together. Lexa’s grip is like iron. They break apart for Lexa to sit on the edge of the bed and the expression she holds, the reverence with which she stares up at Clarke, the way a perfect shard of sunlight spills across her face and catches the dampness in her eyes makes Clarke’s heart sputter and throb. In that instant the force of Lexa’s devotion washes over her like a tidal wave and Clarke wants to drown in its devastation.

Lexa’s lips part, mouthing something that Clarke doesn’t hear, but she reads the intent clearly. She’s being given one last opportunity to halt this now while they both still have some weak sense of self-preservation, to withdraw with their dignity mostly intact. The possibility occurs to Clarke that crossing this line might wreck her beyond recognition, beyond her ability to put herself back together. But she doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t think she could. Not now. She wants Lexa, has never wanted anything more in her life, and it only makes her more determined.

They hold each others stare, a silent question posed and answered, before Clarke flows forward. At the same time Lexa reaches for her, hand cupping the back of Clarke's neck to bring her down to waiting lips. Clarke braces her weight on her arms, palms splayed flat on either side of Lexa’s bare shoulders, sinking into the soft furs beneath them. She plants one knee on the bed then swings the other over Lexa’s hips. She feels more than hears Lexa’s short intake of breath. It gives Clarke strength, allows her confidence to build quietly.

Clarke draws back a few inches to look at the girl below her. Moisture clings to Lexa’s eyelashes, green eyes swirling with a tumult of emotions. Her hand lingers at Clarke’s neck, sifting gently through the shorter hairs at the nape. Lexa trembles, still.

Clarke touches Lexa’s cheek, fingertips tracing over a high cheekbone, the sharply defined edge of Lexa's jaw, the round curve of her chin. Lexa’s beautiful, an objective fact that Clarke's been aware of from the second she set eyes on her, but like this she’s exquisite, heart-stoppingly so, the subject of a thousand poems and songs and works of art. Clarke wants to immortalise Lexa with her mouth, exalt her with her own two hands. She’s already dropped to her knees once for this girl and she wants to do it again in an entirely different way.

Lexa is patient, breathing shallowly as she indulges Clarke’s curiosity and the slow intimacy of it all is alien to Clarke. With Niylah, Finn, on the Ark, every previous encounter had been a frantic hurry to get off. With Lexa she wants to savour every second, take the time to work her up until Lexa’s feverish and begging Clarke with every other breath. A heady rush runs through her at the thought and Lexa must notice the shift; Clarke sees it in darkening of Lexa's eyes.

“Clarke.” The register of Lexa's voice is low, huskier than Clarke has heard before. She’s always secretly liked Lexa’s voice, especially that clipped tone she uses as Heda, and when she speaks in rapid, harsh Trigedasleng? _Fuck_. But this is something else.

Entranced, Clarke drags her thumb over the plush fullness of Lexa’s bottom lip, keen gaze following the bob of Lexa’s throat as she swallows. The barest touch of Lexa’s tongue to the pad of her thumb sends a jolt through Clarke. She sits back on Lexa’s thighs and lets her hands drop to the hem of Lexa’s shirt. She tugs meaningfully. “Help me with this?”

A small, tremulous smile pulls at Lexa’s lips as she sits up, careful to avoid displacing Clarke from her lap. It takes a bit of awkward manoeuvring to release Lexa from her shirt, getting momentarily caught up in the cascade of her hair, which, God, looks incredible right now. Clarke tosses the shirt aside and trails her fingers down Lexa’s arms, feeling the subtle strength beneath deceptively soft skin as she follows the outline of the tattoo that adorns Lexa’s bicep. Slender arms encircle her waist, keeping her close as Lexa noses along her jaw, breathing her in. Lips press tenderly to her throat, just the barest of pressure and Clarke sighs. She slides her hands along Lexa’s shoulders, down the slope of her chest until they meet the worn black cups that cover Lexa’s breasts.

Clarke looks down between their bodies, bottom lip trapped between her teeth as her eyes rove over the sharp lines of Lexa’s collarbones and the swells of her breasts. Fingertips rest on the edge of rough cotton, waiting for permission. Lexa gives one of those minuscule nods.

Clarke doesn’t bother unhooking the bra, just gently tugs the cups down. Her hands curve immediately around Lexa’s breasts. They’re amazing, round and small, with perfect hard little nipples that graze against her palms. Lexa’s skin is so warm and so soft and Clarke is unprepared for the visceral reaction she has to finally touching Lexa. She kneads slowly, experimentally, and watches Lexa’s eyelashes flutter. All of it makes Clarke painfully aware of the heat pulsing between her thighs.

“Clarke,” Lexa says and the way her breath hitches on the ‘k’ drives Clarke crazy.

So she leans in and runs her tongue along that lusciously full bottom lip before licking boldly into Lexa’s mouth. She keeps palming Lexa’s breasts, now and then pinching and rolling Lexa's nipples, relishing every little whimper and gasp that escapes from the other girl. It’s as if every sound is wired to Clarke’s body and she cant help but squirm in Lexa’s lap, hips beginning a slow grind against Lexa's solid abdominal muscles.

Hands begin to wander, slipping under the edge of Clarke’s shirt to splay against her bare stomach and she shivers involuntarily. They disentangle for a moment to rid Clarke of her own shirt. She watches as Lexa’s stare drops to her breasts. The bra Clarke's wearing has seen better days, straining against her cleavage, and Lexa seems nothing short of stunned by the display in front of her if the wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression on her face is anything to go by.

When those eyes lift back up, latching onto Clarke’s briefly before settling on her lips, the hunger contained in them is palpable.

“Lexa,” Clarke says and it comes out as a rough plea.

The utterance of her name spurs Lexa into action, reaching behind Clarke to deftly unhook her bra with one hand and peel it away from her skin. Lexa cups the weight of Clarke’s breasts, thumbs swiping over erect nipples, before she lowers her head to wrap her lips around one. Clarke can only tip her head back and moan at the sensation of that hot, wet mouth surrounding her.

“Fuck,” she mutters when Lexa runs her tongue over and around the stiff peak, swirling in tight circles. Already Clarke’s mind is leaping ahead, imagining Lexa’s mouth elsewhere, and she feels a sudden gush of wetness soaking through her underwear at the thought. Just when the sensitivity becomes too much to bear Lexa seems to sense it and switches to the other breast, setting her mouth enthusiastically to work.

This goes on for long minutes, Lexa eventually abandoning overstimulated nipples to kiss every inch of Clarke’s chest, dragging her lips over her clavicle, sucking at the space between her collarbones until a bruise blooms, licking and mouthing at the swell of her breasts. All the while Lexa’s hands are everywhere, roaming over every inch of skin she’s able to reach, leaving Clarke tingling and breathing heavily through her nose. Her own fingers are lodged in Lexa’s hair, tensing and releasing against her scalp.

As much as she’s enjoying the attention lavished on her breasts Clarke’s aware that the hour is slipping away from them. “Lexa,” she says, not giving a damn about the edge of urgency in that one word.

The other girl pulls back and her _eyes_. God. There’s barely a sliver of green visible, irises almost entirely eclipsed by blown pupils. It isn’t only lust Clarke sees reflected back at her. Lexa’s looking at her as if Clarke is the fulfilment of her every wish, an impossible dream she hadn’t dared could come true. It should be frightening, the magnitude of emotions that Lexa stirs within her, but Clarke isn’t afraid anymore. It feels like every moment between them has been leading inevitably and inexorably towards this. Clarke’s ready to embrace it, all of it.

“Tell me what you want,” Lexa says softly, letting her hands come to rest at the small of Clarke’s back, fingers just dipping beneath the waistband of Clarke’s pants.

“I want you.” That simple admission, easily given, hangs between them like the dust motes suspended in the afternoon sunlight.

A small smile curves Lexa’s mouth. “I meant what do you want me to do for you?"

Clarke isn’t sure she’s able to articulate details, not when Lexa’s basically asking her how she wants to be fucked. No one has ever asked her that before. “Everything,” she huffs out with a choked laugh, feeling her cheeks grow pink.

“If we had the luxury of time, I would.”

Clarke blinks, her mind unravelling with possibilities. God, this girl. She just wants to be with Lexa, wants Lexa’s hands on her, skin on skin without the barrier of clothing. She wants Lexa to make her come and it doesn’t matter how. “I want…” Clarke closes her eyes because she can't finish a sentence when Lexa’s staring at her like this, all smouldering sexual intensity, with her hair prettily mussed and swept over one shoulder. “I want your fingers. Two, maybe three. I think I’m wet enough to take more.”

Her voice is thick, hoarse with desire and when Clarke opens her eyes again she barely has a second to register the almost savage expression on Lexa’s face before she’s being kissed, hard. It’s nothing like their previous kisses. Lexa’s demanding, her tongue delving forward to stake a claim on Clarke’s mouth. Her fingers slip further into Clarke’s pants, digging in to the tops of Clarke’s buttocks. All Clarke can do is cling to Lexa’s shoulders and try to keep up. Soon she’s rocking in Lexa’s lap but she can’t get enough friction like this.

Lexa slowly disengages, nose rubbing along Clarke’s as she angles her head and slants her mouth over Clarke’s once again.

“Lexa, please,” Clarke says, her words swallowed by a series of deep kisses that leave her panting harshly. She’s so turned on it’s verging on pain. “Just, please, fuck me."

At last Lexa takes pity on her. She pops the button of Clarke’s pants and drags the zip down. Clarke lifts herself off Lexa to help push the tight material down her thighs, steadying herself with one hand on Lexa’s shoulder. Between them they manage to get Clarke out of her pants.

There’s a damp patch on the front of Clarke’s underwear, the white fabric rendered almost transparent, and Lexa’s gaze is fastened to it. Lexa reaches between them, fingertips skimming over the visible outline of Clarke’s labia and the strangled noise the light touch wrenches from Clarke makes Lexa’s eyes snap up to hers. That look of wonderment is back on Lexa's face, like she can’t believe this is really happening. Still grasping Lexa’s shoulder, Clarke presses her hips forward, bringing them into firmer contact.

She sees Lexa swallow, the clench and unclench of her jaw as it works. Clarke rotates her pelvis, eyelids fluttering as those long, slender fingers glide against her ruined underwear, over the swell of her clit. Clarke lets out a rasping breath and her knees shake and, fuck, she wants more more more.

“Le-“ She only manages to grind out the first syllable of Lexa’s name before her panties are yanked down.

Lexa touches her, raking through soaked curls. It’s a little unruly down there and had Clarke known a goodbye was going to turn into this, she would’ve done some maintenance beforehand. But Lexa doesn’t seem to care about the state of her pubic hair so Clarke doesn’t either. There’s no time to be self-conscious when Lexa’s dipping into the cleft between her labia and tracing the length of her slit, not when Lexa's slicking up her fingers and teasing at Clarke's opening. She isn’t ready for how easily they slip in, two in a single push. They shudder in unison. Clarke’s so wet Lexa’s fingers almost slip back out. She brings her hands to either side of Lexa’s neck and settles back into her lap, hips rocking forward and down to meet each slow, shallow thrust.

She tries to push Lexa deeper. Clarke’s watched Lexa’s hands grip the pommel of a sword, curl around the armrests of a throne, lift in that casually dismissive gesture to clear a room full of generals and diplomats. She's caught herself thinking about those fingers on more than one occasion and she knows they have reach and dexterity. She knows Lexa’s holding back.

Clarke presses her thumbs against the underside of Lexa’s jaw, forcing her to meet her eyes. Clarke sinks forward, latching onto Lexa’s kiss-swollen bottom lip and sucking. Lexa doesn’t stop the movement of her hand, keeps to the same maddening pace, even as Clarke snaps her hips in encouragement and traps Lexa’s lip between her teeth. She lets out a groan of frustration, expelling a rough breath into Lexa’s mouth.

“Patience, Clarke."

“I can’t-“ She feels like sobbing she’s so keyed up. “I need you."

Her voice sounds desperate and unfamiliar to her own ears. This isn’t like her. Lexa has gotten under her skin, makes her question everything she thought she knew about herself. Just two weeks ago if someone had suggested she’d be here, pleading with the legendary Heda to fuck her, she would’ve spat in their face, probably slit their throat. The reversal almost makes her laugh. Except this isn’t fucking, it’s far too gentle to be called that.

Lexa’s free hand slides around the jut of Clarke's hip, over the straining muscles of her stomach, up the indentations of her ribs until she meets the underside of Clarke’s breast. She thumbs at Clarke’s puckered nipple and only then does Lexa add another finger, pushing in deep up to the knuckles. A moan catches at the back of Clarke’s throat at the sensation, the delicious stretch of Lexa filling her _finally_.

They watch each other, maintaining eye contact as Lexa pulls out partially only to slam back in, as Clarke rolls her hips into the motion. Every thrust of Lexa’s fingers rubs against that sweet spot on her front wall and soon Clarke’s breath is coming in short, sharp bursts. The wet noises between them, the heavy scent of sex in the air and the single-minded intent on Lexa’s face is making Clarke’s head swim. There’s already a slow building pressure in the pit of her stomach and Lexa hasn’t even touched her clit yet.

Lexa’s mouth presses to her throat, trailing hot kisses up the column of her neck, finding a sensitive patch behind Clarke's ear that she wasn’t even aware was a thing. But, God, it is. She grinds down into the heel of Lexa’s hand, trying to get some relief for her swollen clit, but Lexa angles her wrist down and her palm away.

“Lexa,” Clarke all but whines. She feels the answering stretch of Lexa’s smile against her skin. Hands still hooked around Lexa’s neck, Clarke drags the girl’s mouth away from her so Lexa can appreciate the full force of her glare. The effect is somewhat diminished by the way Lexa’s fingers are still pumping steadily and Clarke’s hips are matching the same rhythm, not missing a beat.

“What is it, Clarke?” A smirk lingers at the corner of Lexa’s mouth, as much a provocation as the question. It’s so irritatingly attractive. Clarke wants to kiss it off her face.

“You know,” she grits out.

“You mean this?” Lexa says as she swipes her thumb over the tip of Clarke’s clit.

The reaction is instantaneous. Clarke’s back arches, slick cunt taking Lexa’s fingers deeper. “Fuck,” Clarke says, the hard consonants breaking off abruptly.

Lexa leans in again, dragging her tongue up the length of Clarke’s throat. “Is this what you need?” she says against her neck, taking another glancing pass over the hard bundle of nerves with her thumb. Clarke bucks and chases the contact, all too fleeting. “Tell me, Clarke."

She tries to resist, she really does, but Lexa’s worn down her defences, destroyed the very last thread of self-control. “Yes, God, Lexa. Ple-”

She’s cut off by Lexa’s mouth covering her own, kissing her and swallowing the moan that clogs Clarke's throat as a thumb presses against her clit. Lexa rubs in slow, firm circles and it isn’t enough, it isn’t, but the pressure in Clarke's lower abdomen spikes so rapidly, so suddenly and her entire body is just a juddering, uncoordinated mess. The kiss breaks as she gasps, a breathless keen lost against Lexa’s parted lips. The orgasm hits Clarke hard, drawn out over a suspended moment and then she’s coming, spilling around Lexa’s now immobile fingers and flooding the palm of her hand. She looks down to see fluid streaked down Lexa’s forearm.

Well, shit. That’s new.

Clarke’s chest heaves as she tries to regulate her breathing but it’s difficult when Lexa’s fingers remain buried deep inside her. Lexa begins to move slowly, stroking Clarke through the residual tremors, gradually withdrawing when she senses Clarke’s become too sensitive. She doesn’t relinquish contact entirely, instead letting her fingers tangle through the sticky hair between Clarke’s legs. It feels nice, intimate, not overly stimulating.

Clarke drapes her arms over Lexa’s shoulders and rests their foreheads together, enjoying the quiet proximity, the soft puff of Lexa’s breath against her face. Up close Lexa’s eyes are unfocused but shining with open adoration and Clarke thinks she could get used to this.

“Did that please you?” Lexa asks, barely louder than a whisper.

Clarke squints at her incredulously. The smile that spreads over Lexa’s face in response is unlikely any other Clarke has witnessed; wide, full-lipped and so _happy_ that it steals her breath. It’s the loveliest thing she’s ever seen. When it fades it leaves Clarke with a hollow feeling in her chest.

“Our time is drawing to an end,” Lexa says, those green eyes taking on a tinge of sorrow. She presses her lips together. “Octavia will be waiting for you. We should get dressed."

“Like hell we will."

Lexa’s eyebrows lift. “Clarke-"

Both of her hands shove at the other girl’s shoulders, pushing Lexa flat on her back. She stares up at Clarke with wide eyes.

"If you think I’m leaving before I’ve had the chance to make you come in my mouth then you’re mistaken, Commander,” Clarke says, her tone brooking no argument. She watches with satisfaction as Lexa’s jaw snaps shut. She reaches for the button at the front of Lexa’s pants and flicks it open. “Octavia can wait."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with double the sin. Seriously, this is so NSFW. Don't read it around your parents, guardians, siblings or pets either.
> 
> In short: Clarke gives Lexa multiple orgasms. Nobody dies (it's worth reiterating).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks. I'm honestly floored by the response.

"Octavia can wait."

Any objection from Lexa is immediately swallowed down when Clarke shifts off her lap and starts to loosen the straps on Lexa's pants. To her credit Clarke's hands remain steady as she works at the buckles. She tugs the pants down Lexa's legs until she meets the obstruction of boots. They’re dispensed with quickly, tossed over Clarke’s shoulder, one boot narrowly missing a candelabra. Once the pants are off Clarke drinks in the view before her, raking her eyes up long, graceful limbs that seem to go on forever. A second later Clarke's palms follow the same path as her gaze, gliding up, up, from slim ankles to toned thighs until she brushes the bottom edge of the tiny black shorts that sit low over Lexa's hips.

Lexa's always gorgeous but, like this, she's a fucking goddess carved out of marble. Artemis or Athena, something out of ancient mythology. On a purely aesthetic level the artist in Clarke appreciates the proportions of Lexa's form, the flat plane of her stomach and the narrow flare of hips tapering into a slender waist. But on another primitive, much more shallow level the image of Lexa reclining half-naked against the furs, bottom lip snared between her teeth, waiting for Clarke to do whatever she's going to do... Well. It's going to stay with Clarke for a while. It's going to keep her warm during the long, lonely nights in Arkadia with just her hand for company.

(And Clarke's trying not to dwell on the fast encroaching reality that once she's beyond these walls it could be months before she sees Lexa again.)

Her attention turns to the shallow rise and fall of Lexa's chest, to the enticing jut of pebbled nipples. They look so pretty, coral pink contrasting against skin painted golden by the sunlight streaming through the window, and Clarke wonders how they’ll taste in her mouth.

She rises on her knees to sit astride Lexa's hips again, a smile ticking up at the soft exhalation that Lexa lets out as Clarke's weight settles upon her. Lexa's bra is still clasped below her breasts. For half a second Clarke considers leaving it on because, fuck, it looks  _hot_. In the end she wiggles a hand under Lexa's back and finds the bra hook, releasing it like a pro.

Unimpeded now, Clarke traces lines over Lexa's well-defined abs, enjoying the way the muscles tense and jump beneath her touch. She drags a single finger up the centre of Lexa's torso, up between her breasts and over the hollow between those glorious collarbones. God, Clarke wants to bite them. She wants to leave hickeys all over Lexa's skin. She wants Lexa to see the angry marks tomorrow and remember, with a blush, everything Clarke did to her. Clarke wants and wants and wants.

When her eyes land on Lexa's she catches a flicker of something—trepidation?—and it gives Clarke pause. Lexa's green eyes are wide but she doesn't look away, staring at Clarke as if she's an apparition that might disappear if she so much as blinks.

"Hey," Clarke says soft and low, resting her hand flat against Lexa's chest. Beneath her palm she feels the erratic thud of Lexa's heartbeat. “It's okay. You're safe with me." Clarke lifts her brows. "Do you trust me?"

A second passes before Lexa raises her chin, throat bobbing. She gives a tight nod.

It blows Clarke's mind to see Lexa so vulnerable. Clarke remembers watching this girl take down a man almost twice her size with ferocious confidence, hefting a spear at Nia as if it was nothing. As compelling (and horrific) as that was, it's nothing compared to this, to the small gasp Lexa lets out when Clarke leans down on her elbows and their breasts press together fully.

She drags her mouth along Lexa's jawline, nipping gently at the corner where jaw meets neck. She rides the answering roll of Lexa's hips, revelling in the reaction. Apparently Lexa likes it when Clarke uses her teeth. Her mouth hovers beside Lexa's ear and she can't help being distracted and endeared by how _dainty_ it is. Without question Lexa's ears are one of Clarke's favourite things and right now they're tinged red. She lets her lips brush the edge of the lobe as she drops her voice to a raspy whisper. "I'm going to make you feel so good, Lexa. I'm going to take such good care of you, okay?"

The hands that had until this point been gripping the furs reach for Clarke, grabbing hold of her hips. Clarke draws back a bit, enough to look down into Lexa's face. Lexa's eyes flit between Clarke's own and down to her mouth, darting back and forth until Clarke can't stand waiting any longer.

A breath rushes out of Clarke's nose as she brings their lips together, mouths opening to each other immediately. It's messy, all heat and saliva and tongue and Clarke never wants it to end. They kiss and kiss as if they can't quench their thirst for each other. Which, yeah. Clarke fucking loves kissing Lexa. It's like Lexa's lips and tongue were designed especially for her. Everything about the pressure and texture and taste of Lexa's mouth is perfection. All the little halting breaths and soft sighs that leak from Lexa are practically life-affirming.

And, okay, Clarke's starting to realise how much of a miscalculation this was because how is she supposed to go back to the Ark now? When she knows about the gentle, needy noises Lexa makes when all Clarke's doing is kissing her?

Lexa's hands move, slipping around to grip at Clarke's ass and she moans at the contact, shifting again until her thigh is slotted between Lexa's. When Clarke's skin meets the clingy cotton of Lexa's shorts, feels the wetness that's soaking through the fabric, it makes her head spin.

Lifting herself up on one elbow, Clarke lets her free hand roam with purpose down Lexa's side until she finds the waistband of Lexa's shorts. She pushes underneath. Her fingers go down, down, raking through a strip of short, wiry hair until she meets the slick heat pooled between Lexa's thighs.

The kiss breaks and they both exhale sharply. Clarke rests her forehead against Lexa's while she tries to calm herself because, God, Lexa is fucking _drenched_ and it's all because of her. It's kind of a trip. It makes Clarke feel powerful. The Grounders call her Wanheda, commander of death, but if it means making Lexa expire a thousand times under her hands and mouth then she'll gladly accept that title. Clarke watches for every subtle change in Lexa's expression as she maps out slippery skin, completely entranced by the flutter of Lexa's lashes, the tremble of her lips. This close Lexa's eyes are huge, fathomless, and Clarke feels like she's being devoured by them. She pushes one finger through the wetness, gliding between labia and swirling around the entrance to Lexa's cunt.

"Can I?" Clarke asks, fingertip poised and waiting.

The upwards cant of Lexa's hips, the shuddering breath she releases against Clarke's mouth is answer enough. Clarke works her middle finger inside and she can't believe how tight Lexa is, inner muscles clamping down on her when Clarke's barely gone deeper than the second joint.

She stalls, checking Lexa's expression for any sign of discomfort. "Is this okay?" Clarke makes no further movement, allowing Lexa time to adjust to the feeling.

"Yes," Lexa replies. Her green eyes are shrouded with emotion. "I haven't—" She swallows, presses her lips together. "Not since Costia."

At least Clarke has the presence of mind not to let her astonishment show. She's seen the admiring looks sent Lexa's way by many women in Polis, never more obvious than on the day Lexa fought Roan at the arena. Hell, that was the moment Clarke allowed herself to privately acknowledge that, even though she wanted to cling to her bitterness and distrust, if Lexa asked, Clarke definitely _would_. Pretty girls must've been throwing themselves at Heda left, right and centre. Lexa could have her pick of any of them but she's here, with Clarke, and it feels like an incredible privilege.

(Clarke isn't ignorant. She knows the reason why—Lexa all but confessed it before their kiss—but it's too vast and scary to think about when she has to leave soon.)

"It's all right," Clarke says, placing a tender kiss on Lexa's bottom lip. Despite the questions she has this is no time to pry, to dredge up the past. All she wants to focus on is the present and making Lexa feel good.

Clarke sits back on her heels, her finger slipping out of Lexa. She sees the flash of consternation in Lexa's stare and smirks. "I seem to remember you saying something about patience," she says idly.

Lexa's eyebrows bunch together. "Then you'll also remember what I once told you about mockery, Clarke." There's no malice in Lexa's tone, it's all breathless and soft and it makes Clarke want to grin so hard that she has to bite her lip to contain it.

She toys with the waistband of Lexa's shorts for a moment, edging the material down over one hipbone then the other. She skirts her fingers across the v of Lexa's pelvis and Lexa rocks up into her, the corded muscle of her thigh hitting Clarke's centre just right. Clarke's mouth drops open in a low groan and her palms splay flat on Lexa's stomach to steady herself. The hands still fastened to Clarke's ass squeeze for emphasis. She takes the hint and tugs Lexa's shorts down as far as her knees, allowing Lexa to wriggle them off the rest of the way.

Now that Lexa's completely naked Clarke hardly knows where she wants to begin. She spends a while just looking, watching Lexa's chest heave slightly, gaze trailing over uninterrupted bare skin as her eyes track down Lexa's torso, from those perfect breasts to the dip of Lexa's navel and lower still. The hair between Lexa's legs is trimmed and neat, just as immaculately groomed as the rest of her and Clarke wonders if Lexa takes care of it herself or if her handmaidens are responsible. That thought is ruthlessly shut down because Clarke doesn't want to imagine anyone's hands on Lexa's body but her own. She realises that she's been staring too long. When Clarke finally drags her eyes back up to Lexa's there's an unmistakeable blush high on the other girl's cheeks.

"Clarke," Lexa says, half-admonishment, half-plea.

"What?" Clarke smiles, not bothering to smother it. She braces her arms on either side of Lexa's shoulders. She isn't oblivious to the fact that Lexa seems distracted by the way the position pushes her breasts together.

She leans down to capture Lexa's mouth in a languid kiss, parting her lips to coax Lexa's tongue inside. While the kiss deepens Clarke nudges Lexa's knee with her own, a silent request to spread her legs wider. Lexa obeys, thighs bracketing Clarke's hips and bringing them into closer contact. The first press of Lexa's wet cunt against Clarke's lower abdomen makes her groan into Lexa's mouth. Her hand slides between their bodies, grazing over the swell of Lexa's clit and pushing inside her again with a single finger. Lexa kisses harder and Clarke sucks on her tongue, driving her finger further, further until she's in up to the knuckle. And, fuck, Lexa's so tight and hot and perfect around her when Clarke starts to move, taking her slow and deep, putting the weight of her hips behind every thrust.

She pulls her mouth away from Lexa's, presses kisses to the underside of her jaw, drags her teeth over the tendon that stands out on Lexa's neck. Her lips travel down Lexa's throat, sucking lightly but not with enough pressure to bruise. Lexa tips her head back, one hand threading into Clarke's hair, the other kneeding at her ass, as she swivels her hips into Clarke's palm.

Clarke doesn't remove her mouth from Lexa's skin for a second, scattering kisses all over Lexa's clavicle, dipping her tongue into the hollow between her collarbones. She licks a wet stripe between Lexa's breasts, lapping up the light sheen of perspiration that's collected there. God, even Lexa's sweat tastes like fucking nectar. She mouths over the tops of Lexa's tits until she reaches the hard point of a nipple, taking it between her teeth and laving the tip with her tongue.

" _Jok_ ," Lexa chokes out, fingers digging into Clarke's scalp. It's the first time she's heard Lexa swear and Clarke finds it hot as hell. So she repeats the action, this time using the flat of her tongue to lap at Lexa's nipple, alternating between precise swirls and broad licks. She's single-minded in her worship of Lexa's breasts, keeps switching between the two, sucking and scraping her teeth against stiff peaks. She's so caught up in it that she's completely blindsided when Lexa lets out a strangled noise, clamping down on Clarke's finger as her hips rise off the bed and her entire body goes rigid for a few protracted seconds.

Clarke releases Lexa's nipple with a wet pop and lifts her eyebrows. "Did you just...?"

Lexa's eyes are shut. She sucks her quivering bottom lip into her mouth and nods, hardly moving at all. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologise. Just, that's... wow." Clarke bites her lip to stop the groan that threatens to spill out. She takes a breath, tries to gather her thoughts because at the moment she feels like she's only able to function on a sensory level. "I'm flattered you came so quickly but, Lexa, I'm not nearly finished with you yet."

Lexa's eyes flutter open, a mixture of awe and apprehension in her glassy stare. She draws in an unsteady breath when Clarke's finger slips out of her, another when Clarke lifts off her body only to settle on her stomach between Lexa's legs. She slides her hands over the furs and under Lexa's thighs, urging them apart until there's room enough for Clarke's shoulders.

"I made a promise," Clarke says, her words punctuated by the open-mouthed kisses she plants down Lexa's torso. "And I intend to keep it." She smiles against warm skin when she feels the tension coiling in Lexa's abs, runs her tongue over bunched muscles as she wraps her hands around the backs of Lexa's thighs. She pushes up, up until Lexa's sluggish mind follows her intent, drawing her knees up and spreading wide before Clarke.

It's... God. Clarke doesn't have words. She's only been with two other girls, so admittedly the empirical evidence is lacking, but she thinks Lexa's pussy is probably the prettiest one in the whole world. The sight of Lexa open and swollen and actually  _dripping_ onto the furs is too much for Clarke to process. All she knows is that she wants to devour Lexa, forget the world and fucking set up home between Lexa's thighs. Clarke shimmies a little further down the bed and leans in, dropping kisses over the rise of Lexa's mound, clipped hair tickling her nose as she descends. Her senses are clouded with the scent and taste of Lexa's arousal, the cloying, musky smell of sex filling her nostrils. Clarke extends her tongue, dipping into Lexa's opening and gathering a thick spill of fluid, the heady flavour exploding in her mouth. She decides then that if she could subsist on this alone, she would. No exaggeration. Beneath her Lexa jolts and squirms closer, the fingers still lodged in Clarke's hair scraping deliciously against her scalp.

It's all the encouragement Clarke needs to let her mouth explore. She diligently traces the shape of every glistening fold and crease, licks all around, tongue sweeping through the wetness. She nuzzles closer, fastens her open mouth to Lexa's pussy and sets her tongue against the entrance. She swirls around the edge, flicks once, twice, bolstered by the broken gasp that it wrenches from Lexa. Clarke looks up the length of Lexa's body. She watches Lexa tip her head back, an arm thrown over her eyes and it makes Clarke  _ache_ to see Lexa unravelling so beautifully.

She licks into Lexa, pushing into silky heat, feeling the quiver and grasp and pull of Lexa surrounding her. Clarke firms her tongue, sinks in as far as possible as her hands round Lexa's hips to pin them down. Lexa's restless, grinding slowly into her face and Clarke's loving every second of it. She uses her hold on Lexa for leverage, dragging out only to shove back in. Lexa's fingers tighten, grasping a fistful of Clarke's hair and it spurs her on. Clarke works her tongue harder, deeper until she feels like she might suffocate. But, fuck, what a way to go. It's only when her lungs start to burn that she disengages, quickly props herself up on one elbow and replaces her tongue with two fingers. Lexa takes her eagerly, hips rolling down to meet every stroke.

For a moment Clarke's distracted by the sight of Lexa riding her fingers, the feel of Lexa clinging snugly around her. Eventually she shakes herself out of the lust-induced stupor and drops her head, mouthing at Lexa's hipbone, using just enough suction and pressure to mark Lexa's skin. She leaves a twin bruise on the opposite hip before dotting kisses lower, licking at the stickiness that streaks along the insides of Lexa's thighs.

Above her Lexa's panting, mumbling something in Trigedasleng that Clarke doesn't comprehend despite her fairly decent grasp of the language. The other girl's close to toppling over the edge of orgasm, Clarke knows it, feels it in the flutter of Lexa's walls around her fingers, the way her hips are picking up speed and rhythm. So Clarke turns her focus to Lexa's clit, wrapping her lips around the hard bundle, circling the protruding tip with the flat of her tongue. She traces random patterns, the letters of her name, keeps spelling out the three words that they seem incapable of speaking aloud to one another.

_I love you, I love you, I l—_

A wail is torn from Lexa's throat as her back arches off the bed. Her hips leap, almost slamming into Clarke's face as she writhes and spasms. Clarke doesn't let up on Lexa's pulsing clit, sucking it into her mouth and drawing another hoarse sound from Lexa. She tugs sharply on Clarke's hair, her other hand clawing at the furs. Clarke can't take her eyes off Lexa, the way her body's practically undulating as she rides the climax, shuddering and squeezing around Clarke's fingers. The sight of Lexa breaking apart, completely unrestrained, stops Clarke's heart, leaves her awed. It feels like her single greatest accomplishment.

Only once every last tremor has been wrung out of Lexa does Clarke withdraw her hand. She places a final kiss on Lexa's clit, savouring the little whimper that provokes. Her gaze drops to the sizeable puddle of come on the bed between them and she expels a quiet, shocked huff of breath. Clarke's impressed, proud that _she_ did this, reduced Lexa to a soft, quivering mess. She made Leksa kom Trikru, Heda, Commander of the Blood, the spiritual, political, military leader of the Coalition, fucking post-apocalyptic queen of what remains of humanity, come twice and Goddamn if Clarke isn't desperate to make it three in a row.

It's with renewed determination that she swipes her tongue over Lexa, mopping up the spill of fluid around her cunt. Lexa's hips jump, knocking clumsily against Clarke's jaw but it doesn't deter her. She touches Lexa's body, palms sliding over her thighs, up straining abs, until she has her hands on Lexa's breasts. By now Lexa has a death grip on her scalp and Clarke isn't sure whether she's being pulled closer or pushed away. She keeps her touch gentle, teasing, as she cleans Lexa up. She can't get enough of the taste of Lexa, the smell of her. It's addictive and Clarke wishes they had more time because she wants to spend hours, days, every waking moment in service to Lexa's pleasure.

In her intense concentration Clarke almost misses Lexa's free hand picking up one of her own. Their fingers tangle, palms clasped tightly together and it makes Clarke smile against Lexa's skin. She moves her tongue over and around Lexa's folds. She licks into Lexa slowly, gathering as much of the wetness as she can into her mouth. Clarke wants to drink it all down, take her fill.

Trembling thighs close around Clarke's ears, muffling the sound of Lexa's heavy breathing. The world narrows to the thundering of Clarke's own pulse in her head and the wet suction of her mouth, the tiny jerks of Lexa's hips, Lexa's hands grounding her in the moment. Clarke slips in deeper, pushing her tongue to the limit of its reach, until she curls the tip against the soft, spongy patch of skin on the surface. She glances up just as Lexa arches her spine, watches Lexa's mouth drop open in a silent gasp as an orgasm shakes through her. Fingers squeeze around Clarke's hard enough to bruise but she doesn't stop rubbing at that spot inside Lexa, not even when Lexa's release floods into her mouth like a fucking torrent, the excess dribbling over Clarke's lips and chin. It makes Clarke clench around nothing, a sympathetic gush of wetness pooling between her own legs.

By degrees Lexa's grip on her hair and her hand loosens. Clarke draws back, staring in wonder at the mess she's made. It's while she's considering whether it's possible to milk another orgasm out of the other girl—one for the road?—that Lexa reaches down blindly, cupping Clarke's jaw in her palms, urging her up.

Clarke follows, crawling over Lexa's spent body. She drops kisses along the way, tender little nips and and pecks against the curve of Lexa's hip, the slope of her ribs, a lingering kiss placed over Lexa's chest. She feels the thrum of Lexa's heartbeat under her lips and it's another moment before Clarke registers the staggered, damp sound of Lexa's breathing.

When she looks up Clarke's thunderstruck to see the tears running freely down Lexa's cheeks. In an instant Clarke's beside her, cradling Lexa's face in her hands. "S'okay, I'm here. I've got you," Clarke says, her tone leaden with worry. Did she push Lexa too far? It was too much and all she wants to do is make it better. With a gentle sweep of her thumbs Clarke brushes the tears away. She leans in to kiss Lexa, to comfort her, then remembers her mouth and chin are covered in Lexa's come. "Sorry," she mutters, wiping some away with the back of her wrist.

"It's fine, Clarke." Lexa's voice shakes, the strength and stoicism that Clarke's come to associate with the Commander entirely absent. Before her is just a girl, not much older than Clarke herself, a tender-hearted girl who cries during sex and looks so beautiful doing it that it makes Clarke want to lay down her life for her. "You can kiss me."

Clarke nods, relieved, because she needs an affirmation that everything is right and good between them. She connects their mouths, capturing first Lexa's top lip then the bottom. There's a sharp inhale as Lexa tastes herself and it takes every last shred of self control Clarke has not to give in to the urge to deepen the kiss. Instead she pulls away, kissing the fresh fall of tears that spill from Lexa's eyes, planting kisses over Lexa's temple, her brows.

It's only then Clarke notices the gear that normally adorns Lexa's forehead has fallen off somehow. She's about to remark upon it when Lexa speaks, "Hold me?" God, Lexa sounds so small and hopeful and trusting. It isn't in Clarke to refuse.

They resituate under the covers, Lexa turning onto her side. Clarke presses close, fits herself against Lexa's back and wraps her arms around Lexa's waist. She presses her lips to Lexa's thin shoulder, sinks her nose against Lexa's neck and just breathes her in. More than the sex this, having Lexa sated and pliant in her arms, is the memory Clarke's going to cherish most while they're apart.

Minutes pass and Clarke feels Lexa's breathing even out. She should be thinking about getting up but Lexa deserves this rare moment of peace.

For her part Clarke tries to ignore the heavy feeling of dread that knots her stomach.

  
*  


"If you keep kissing me like this it's going to make it harder for me to leave," Clarke murmurs against Lexa's mouth.

They're clothed now. A strange, subdued hesitance hung between them as they dressed in front of each other, only dispelled once Lexa smirked and commented on the wild tangle of Clarke's hair. (Which was rude because that was entirely Lexa's doing.) She'd swatted at Lexa and Lexa had caught her wrist and tugged until Clarke was flush against her. They'd smiled and laughed like besotted idiots. Ever since they've been trading lazy kisses and Clarke knows Octavia is going to be pissed. More so than usual, anyway, but Clarke just can't bring herself to give a damn.

"You could stay."

With reluctance Clarke pulls away to meet Lexa's eyes. The sad, resigned look on her face destroys a little piece of Clarke's heart. "I know. Your people need you," Lexa says softly and lets her hand drop from where it's been wrapped behind Clarke's neck. Her mouth curves, a ghost of a smile. "It was worth an attempt."

Clarke's fingers bunch in the fabric at Lexa's waist. "I'll be back just as soon as this situation with Pike is resolved." It's suddenly very important that Lexa understands that she's sincere, that Clarke has no intention of running away from the intimacy they've shared today. That she wants more.

Lexa gives a shallow nod. Something shifts in her expression, a hardening of her features that comes with donning the mantle of Heda. But her eyes, they retain a solemn gentleness that she reserves for few: Clarke and the nightbloods, occasionally Indra. "I await your safe return, Clarke."

The wobble on the last syllable of her name is what nearly undoes Clarke's resolve. "May we meet again," she whispers, the dampness in Lexa's stare mirroring her own. Then, while she's feeling courageous and before she can talk herself out of it, Clarke lifts her mouth to Lexa's ear. "Whatever happens I pledge myself to you, Leksa kom Trikru."

The small, startled smile Lexa gives her is worth it and for once Clarke dares to hope.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~A second chapter with Clarke returning the favour, y/n?~~
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Part 2 is, ahem, coming soon.~~
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on tumblr [femininenachos](https://femininenachos.tumblr.com/).


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